No Mercy
by Paigeypie96
Summary: When a virus strikes the world, a group of four rag-tag survivors come together with the common purpose of none other than surviving. What happens when an addition joins in on the fun and changes makes their entire world go topsy-tervy?


**A/N: **Okay, so, yes. This is ANOTHER new story. It's just something fill my time with while I wait for another creative streak with my other stories (When a Death Eater and a Baker Collide, Blind Mag's Story, and The Living and the Dead-they can all be found on my fanfiction profile if you're interested, along with others.) I absolutely love the game Left 4 Dead, and I'm quite good at it, if I do say so myself. :D But my favourite character in the first is Zoey, so naturally, I'm inclined to write a story from her point of view, am I not? This is rated M for language, violence, gore, and a pairing of the same sex later on (SURPRISES!). I do not have any rights to Left 4 Dead, the characters, or the setting in which this takes place (the No Mercy campaign). If I did, I'd probably be a lot richer and it'd probably be a lot different than it is. Haha. But, on with the story, and I promise some updates on my other stories soon. Enjoy!

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There is no sense of right or wrong anymore. Perhaps there had been at one time, when everything was logical in the world. It might've been a faulty sense, but at least it was there. It was better than the nothing it had become. Killing is now an everyday thing, but alas, it is not murder. It has literally become your typical predator-prey situation, which one would find whilst observing a wild animal in its natural habitat. "Kill or be killed." That was the new and only law in this rubble that we used to call society. It is what it takes to survive, and we have no remorse or regret about living by this rule.

It was true that the world had crumbled around our feet, but for some—like us—it was easy to adapt. The ones who can't, they die. The skies in our world are no longer blue. They're hazy and smoke-filled. Then again, what would you expect when the streets were littered with burning remains of buildings and humans, among other things? There was no light anymore. No day, only night. Our flashlights are the only things to light our way through this darkness now. Hmm…that may not be completely true. Right now, the grey skies are covered by ominous clouds of an even darker hue. They're filled with a thousand threats of hard rain. These threats are only reinforced by the occasional clap of thunder and flash of lighting, which in truth, do light up the world, but for merely a second. I wish it wouldn't, sometimes. It illuminates all of the things hiding in the dark that want nothing more than to hurt us.

There is no sense of time, anymore. The "days" and "nights" just roll by, unnoticed. With nowhere to be and nowhere to go, what is the point in keeping time? Of course, we wake up, we do our jobs, and then we rest whenever we can, but it makes no difference whether we label it morning, afternoon, evening, or night. It's just whatever we can do, whenever we can, but that's kind of like the real world, isn't it?

There is no sound, anymore. Silence rules the Earth now, along with those creatures. I guess we could be considered the Rebellion. We make the sound now. The chirping of birds? Gone. The lively chatter that used to fill the once-lively streets? Gone. The sound of cars zooming past in the once-crowded roads? Gone. The only things that we are accustomed to hearing now are the moans of the living dead, the roars of what we call the Tanks, the groans of what we call the Boomers, the growls of what we call the Hunters, the cough of what we call the Smokers, and the cry of what we call the Witches. Our voices even sound different against the empty backdrop of the city, but it's a comfort talking to the others. It makes everything seem almost as if none of this had ever happened. We still laugh, we still cry. It's almost normal, but we're never safe.

Everything is gone, now—family, friends, and even our pets. It's a miracle that we've managed to keep our sanity. It's a miracle we're surviving. It's a miracle we have each other. It's a miracle we're not among the ranks of the undead. Really, I guess, that's all we need. We've heard rumors along our way that the military are trying to round up the survivors. Most of it seems like that hearsay rubbish the one would hear in an old high school. Some of it, though…it gives us hope. Maybe we'll make it out of this alive and we'll be reunited with others. Maybe we'll be lucky enough to have a fresh start. Maybe we'll be able to have families again. I'd be happy just having something as little as a goldfish again.

What did I mean by "along our way," you ask? Oh, it's not that long of a story. I just meant that where we've been, the military bases have already left. They left nothing behind to even hint at where they would be going next. The only things we found were empty tents, a few piles of ammo, and a few rusty, old guns that we were able to repair and put to use. The military is about as useful as the safety switches on our guns…. I don't really think that it's clicked in the minds of the others yet that we have literally and irrevocably been left for dead.

~X~

"We can make it to the hospital from the subway. There's a redline station not far from here," Bill—the eldest of our group of four—murmured. It was clear to me that he was shaken from our previous run-in with the undead. We almost hadn't made it. Now it looks like we're stranded on the top of this damned apartment complex and the only way down is THROUGH the ruined building. This day…it just keeps getting better and better.

Our senses have grown used to the smell of rotting flesh; I think it's almost as if we're immune to it now. Still, my stomach tightens into a knot at the sight of the mangled body on the roof. It looks as if this young man had committed suicide. A bullet to the head, no doubt. A wasted bullet…. He's propped up against a cement half-wall that surrounds the flat top of the apartment building. His shoulders sag and his arms lay limp at his sides. Flies encircle their marvelous feast and the hum of their buzzing wings is numbing to my ears.

Francis grimaces at the sight, while Louis turns away. I think I'm the youngest of the group. Louis is slightly older than me, while Francis is slightly younger than Bill. I think it'd be best to put all thoughts of this guy at the back of our minds. He's not doing anything to help us survive, is he? Well, he kind of did, in a way. On a table beside his corpse is an assortment of weapons and other useful items. It occurs to me that maybe he didn't commit suicide. Maybe one of the infected got to him before we could. It certainly looks as if he was well prepared.

There are four first aid kits just lying on the table. We each grab one hastily and strap it to our backs. They're going to come in handy sooner or later. I smile at the sight of a can of ammo and instantly grab a handful of shotgun shells. I load my gun and cock it, still grinning from ear to ear. I shove some in my tight, blue jean pockets for future use, and I move aside to let my fellow survivors have their turn.

I move to the other side of the table as Francis, Bill, and Louis reload their weapons and stock up on their shells and bullets. My eyes are drawn to a scribbled in book, and I tilt my head slightly as I read the crudely written words on the open page. "Military at Mercy Hospital…"

Francis comes to stand behind me. His presence is comforting, but at the same time worrying. I've always thought he's been a little sweet on me…. Too bad I'm not interested. I laughed a little to myself at that thought and looked over my shoulder at him.

"Zoey, are you alright?" he asks in his gruff, biker tough voice.

"Yeah," I murmured as I stepped aside uncomfortably. "So, it looks like we're going to the hospital."


End file.
